


the road (mine to keep)

by clowning



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/F, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 03:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16904874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clowning/pseuds/clowning
Summary: Yang turned to face her and the rest followed her gaze, tired grins on their faces. Yang outstretched her prosthetic.“Blake, come get warm.”She came forward, boots crunching in the snow. Yang still held out her hand so Blake took it. They stood palm in palm as the four of them huddled around the fire, letting the heat sink into their skin and clothes.Yang’s voice was barely a whisper beside her, but Blake’s feline ears heard her clearly, like Yang knew they would.“I’ll remember. I’ll remember where we left off in our game. We’ll finish.”(Moments in between, huntresses relearning one another.)





	the road (mine to keep)

**Author's Note:**

> to be honest, i had lost a lot of interest in RWBY after volumes 4 and 5. i feel like the writing took a huge dip there, and maybe i did as well. 
> 
> but volume 6 is showing genuine improvement, and i feel like its 2015 again, im waking up on saturdays excited to watch RWBY again.
> 
> so here's this, something i couldn't stop thinking about. hope you enjoy :)
> 
> kudos and comments are much appreciated

The cold reminds Yang of winter mornings, rising before the sun and setting tired feet on the cool hardwood floor. She and Ruby still shared a room, back then. It didn’t take much to wake her; she was small and and clumsy and hyperactive, tripping over her own shoelaces as she raced downstairs, thinking if she got there fast enough she could hide the evidence of cookies she would sneak before breakfast. 

(She would stop only for a moment, to cast a glance up at their father’s bedroom door, kept shut. Light never peeked out from under.)

Yang took her to school every morning, on the back of Bumblebee as soon as Yang was old enough to drive. Ruby clung to her and laughed and laughed.

The sun was setting. The rumble of the engine rattled around in her skull. Yang isn’t sure where they’re meant to be going. Atlas feels so nebulous, now, a high mountain that she doesn’t know how to scale, the only absolute is that fact that she must. 

Her shoulders are still tense, shaking off the depression and the weight and the nothing of The Apathy.

(She keeps her eyes open, dead ahead on the road, for fear that if she does not she’ll see Blake, lying on the cellar floor and loosely accepting death. 

Leaving Yang again.)

In front of the flatbed on her bike, between the engine and the howling of wind in her ear, the rest of the group feels far away. She can hear the chime of Ruby’s voice, just barely, over the din. It’s all that holds her together.

Ruby used to clutch her back as she whipped around corners, shrieking, “Yang!” and falling into fits of giggles, ceasing only when her boots touched the ground, her knees wobbling with adrenaline and excitement. 

She leaned on Yang for support, until she was ready to stand on her own. 

“Yang? Qrow wants to stop for the night.”

She spent months in bed, feeling the way she felt just an hour ago. Drained and weak. Helpless.

“Yang!”

She hit the brakes, slowing the bike to a stop so she could turn to look at Blake.

Blake hesitated for a moment, wringing the hem of her coat. She looked from her lap to Yang, back and back again. “Qrow wants to stop for the night.”

Yang nodded, swallowing past the bitter taste that is thick in the back of her throat. She opened her mouth and a rasp tumbled out. She coughed.

“Okay.”

She twisted Bumblebee’s throttle and pulled them into a clearing, taking shelter under overhanging tree limbs. Yang stood and stretched her tense muscles, twisting this way and that, sighing as her back cracked. She observed Ruby for a moment, kept a watchful eye.

Qrow was already walking, Harbinger held at his waist. He muttered about scouting the area and keeping first watch. They let him go with little argument. Ruby opened her mouth to call out after him but faltered, and then he was gone.

Weiss gathered their bags and boxes, stacked them neatly and took stock of what they had. She counted their dust cartridges with one hand, her other wrapped around her middle in an attempt to keep herself warm. 

She should do the same.

Yang swung her leg off of the bike, stepping toward the flatbed. She rolled down her coat sleeves, hopping over the guardrail up into the bed of the trailer. She planted herself next to Ruby and wrapped her arm around her, adjusting the cloak so that it swaddled the smaller girl.

Yang leaned into her, closing her eyes and feeling her warmth. Ruby ceased her conversation with Maria, her voice becoming hushed. Ruby returned the contact, hugging Yang close like a lifeline, breathing her in and letting her scent settle over her.

You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re okay.

She didn’t realize she was talking out loud until Ruby shook her. She opened her eyes. 

“Yang…”

The voice wasn’t Ruby’s. Blake moved closer, worry shining in her eyes. Yang turned away, left her back to her teammates. She pulled her bag to herself and busied herself with digging through her pack, retrieving the kit for her prosthetic. 

“Yang. You can talk to us.” 

“I’m… I’ll be alright. I just need a minute.”

Ruby stood and swathed Yang in a hug, firm and grounding. She said little, and that was enough to worry Yang. She said nothing of it, however, deciding to let her have her space. She’d come to talk eventually, Yang reasoned.

Ruby went on her way to gather tinder and wood for a fire, Maria and Weiss following close behind, the pale girl grumbling about not taking a hot bath when she had the chance.

Then, there were two.

Silence sat thick in the space between Blake and Yang. Neither spoke. Yang found her ammunition stores in her pack. She stacked the full boxes, then piled the bandoliers of shells. The dust went next, organized and counted.

After a long moment, Blake picked up her bag and sat a respectable distance across from Yang. She followed her example, stacking clips of ammunition for Gambol Shroud, organized by elemental effect. 

(Yang took a moment to study Gambol Shroud. It’s pieces were simple, utilitarian. It’s sheath had a razor’s edge. The pistol looked like something she had seen on the racks at a sporting goods store on Patch. A ribbon that hid all manner of lethal intent in it’s fabric. The blade itself folded, reminding Yang of a pocket knife.

A weapon and a tool.

Crafted by a child soldier for guerrilla warfare.)

Once the extra stores were done, Yang unloaded the remaining half of Ember Celica. She went slow, shell by shell. She lined the buckshot rounds in a neat row, then another for her explosive rounds. Ten, altogether, stood up on their primers. She hadn’t thought to reload at all since the crash. She moved to her prosthetic, releasing a safety and catching the cartridge that fell loose. She worked the shells out of it as well and lined them up as well. 

Across from her, Blake stood Gambol Shroud’s magazines up, arranged them so that they mirrored Yang’s ammunition. Her golden eyes counted their each of their stock. They seemed comparable in number. It was getting dark, but there was light enough by which Yang could see. A small smile grew on her lips, tentative and a bit playful.

“We could play checkers,” she said. 

Yang gave her a look. 

Blake went on, “We don’t have enough out for chess, but we could play a small game of checkers. If you want.”

Yang tilted her head, the strangeness of the idea put a confused grin on her lips.

“We don’t have a board.”

“You remember it, though, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

Blake beamed. She wrapped her coattails around herself, nestling against the cold and settling in for their game. Yang took the first move. A red buckshot to the right. Blake responded, an ice dust magazine to her own right. 

Yang narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I see how it’s gonna be, Belladonna.”

Yang made her next move, and Blake paid it no attention, having eyes only for the smile on her partner’s lips. 

It cost her an incendiary clip. She didn’t care. 

It was snowing now, they were somewhere in the Atlesian forest, shivering on top of an old trailer and she didn’t care one bit. Yang was here. Her team was here and they were okay. This was good.

We could just forget about the damn lamp and camp here together. We could stay here together like this.

Thoughts of responsibility and cosmic forces left Blake’s mind. 

It would be good, to play games with Yang and watch her smile, to spend every day with her team. She could keep them close, protect them with her life.

“Blake?”

“... Hm?”

“It’s your go.”

“Okay.”

Her lack of strategy made it evident she was distracted. Her cold fingers came off of her piece and Yang countered, claiming it and adding to her collection. 

As each of their forces dwindled so did the remaining sunlight. Weiss, Ruby and Maria rustled through brush back to their trailer, wood cut fresh for a strong fire. Maria hobbled to the trailer and sat with a labored breath. She turned, her mechanical goggles whirred. 

“Be dears and set up camp, would you?”

Blake nodded. “Sure.”

She turned back to Yang and their makeshift board game. Yang looked a bit disappointed to have to cut the game short, but nevertheless she stood and packed away their ammunition, reloading Ember Celica and her prosthetic. Blake watched her as she went about, hopping off the trailer and jogging to Ruby, helping her dig a fire pit and position the logs just so. After they deemed it worthy of burning, Weiss stepped forward and raised Myrtenaster, sending a trickle of flame down into the tinder, setting it alight. 

The flame lit the surrounding area as it ate its way up the logs. Ruby, Weiss and Yang became silhouettes in front of the flame, basking in its warmth. Behind them on the trailer, Blake shivered and smiled.

Yang turned to face her and the rest followed her gaze, tired grins on their faces. Yang outstretched her prosthetic. 

“Blake, come get warm.”

She came forward, boots crunching in the snow. Yang still held out her hand so Blake took it. They stood palm in palm as the four of them huddled around the fire, letting the heat sink into their skin and clothes. 

Yang’s voice was barely a whisper beside her, but Blake’s feline ears heard her clearly, like Yang knew they would. 

“I’ll remember. I’ll remember where we left off in our game. We’ll finish.”

Blake leaned into her and felt her solid form. Here. Alive. All of us here together, strong with each other. 

They would.


End file.
